


Our Glorious Return

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Language, F/F, Gender Change, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash sex, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-19
Updated: 2009-08-01
Packaged: 2018-09-30 20:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10171334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: After the war, Draco Malfoy focused on his career. Now, several years after leaving Britain, he's back - with someone who many had never thought they'd see again...





	1. Chapter One (Present)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Chapter One

Hundreds of lights flashed as Draco Malfoy strode through the Atrium. Every reporter in Britain seemed to have turned out to see him, and he couldn't restrain the smirk drifting lazily across his face.  
He'd only apparated in to Heathrow's Wizarding International Depot half an hour ago, and already he was some sort of celebrity. His meeting with the Minister for Magic was no secret – his application to become Britain's new Head of National Finance had been quite public, and he'd read the imported Daily Prophet with glee.  
It seemed that his application from half-way around the world had set rumours flying. Draco had left England to work as a financial advisor for Gringotts International over in the United States, and no-one had really heard of him since. This meant that wild tales had been fabricated by reporters back home, and Draco had been front page news in England for the past month.  
The beautiful creature on his arm was certainly a great source of interest for the photographers. Svelte and elegant, with high heels clacking on the marble floor, Draco's mysterious partner was clearly inspiring new rumours with every step. If they only knew who it was...

The two of them had met in a Las Vegas club – Draco having a casual drink after a long day working with the wizarding casinos, his paramour dancing sinfully around a pole in the middle of the sunken dancefloor. Everyone standing around or drinking could see every body in the lowered area, and the brunette had instantly caught Draco's eye. That night had changed everything, was part of the reason Draco was even here now...

Why was he here again? His thoughts quickly returned to the Minister as the man in question came to meet him. Unusual, certainly – most interviewees met the Minister in his office. But since this was Draco Malfoy, since there was so much media hype...  
It had shocked Draco slightly to realise who he would be working for. The differences between them were plain, and always had been. Draco had always looked the part of prominent official – but the current Minister for Magic never had, and hadn't changed.  
He was wearing jeans. Clearly designer (probably Hugo Boss), but jeans nevertheless. He wore a simple white shirt, no tie, brown leather shoes – and a tailored tawny robe in deference to his birth.  
Draco, however, was immaculately stylish. He too wore a white shirt – but with a white silk cravat and silver pin. Over this was an emerald green satin vest, a clear reference to his old house. His black trousers were tailored, pressed, and emphasised the gleam of his polished black leather shoes. His robe was black too – but double-breasted, high collared and lined in black satin. All topped off with a black silk top hat and the traditional Malfoy cane. The perfect aristocratic figure.

Neville looked nervous. As well he should, really. He'd been rather nervous about even agreeing to the interview! But it couldn't be denied that on paper Malfoy had been the best candidate, having worked extensively in the financial sector ever since Hogwarts (with the goblins no less!) and experienced both working with judicial figures in financial cases and with government officials (he'd even worked for the US government for three years!). And now he was back, looking every bit the pureblood Lord Neville knew he could never be, and quite clearly acting the part of the perfect Ministry Head. Great. Things didn't look up when he noticed the gorgeous figure next to his former bully – knowing Malfoy, she wasn't just a pretty face. Luckily he managed to pull his best 'confident Minister' face, and escort the pair upstairs to his office.  
He didn't see the grin the mystery person shot him as they left.

~~~69~~~

“So, um, you're back for good?” Neville murmured, his eyes darting nervously towards the silent brunette every two seconds.  
“Well, that depends. Do I have a job?” Draco's reply was obviously blunter than Neville had expected, since the look of surprise escaped before the Minister had time to reel it in. Draco sniggered slightly under his breath, and Neville nearly lost his composure. Honestly, it had been years! How could Malfoy still inspire this childish response? For Merlin's sake, was he a war hero or not? Neville squared his shoulders, looked the enemy deeply in the eyes, and still ended up answering:  
“Um, sure?”  
Draco Malfoy just smirked at him for a moment.  
“Good. I'll need to hire an assistant – from what I've heard my predecessor had some incompetent chit straight out of Hogwarts. And the office will need a make-over – I've seen photos, and quite frankly it's a mess. Also -”  
The brunette placed a hand on his arm, and he instantly silenced. Neville had to admire that power: what he himself wouldn't give to be able to restrain Malfoy with a simple gesture.  
“Well Longbottom, nice as this has been, we have to get going. Lot's of House Elves to boss into unpacking our things, making our dinner – you know how it is.” Of course Nev, you know – not. You haven't had a House Elf in your life, let alone the likes of the Manor's army. Neville couldn't stop himself from cringing a little at his own 'inferiority' as Malfoy and his partner swept from his office.  
Honestly, what had he been thinking?

~~~69~~~

The Manor was slowly warming up, and Draco grinned like a shark as he let himself slink down into the opulent couch, mink rug across his knees. Really, this was the life: fire going, elves serving him his dinner, a glass of brandy... Draco, Lord Malfoy, was back and loving it.  
His lover stood in the doorway, admiring the view. This really was Draco in his natural habitat, and it was good to see him here instead of their old penthouse apartment back in America. It had never been Draco – expensive, yes, but knowing Draco so well, since he was eleven... well, this was Home.  
And now they were back in England, things were about to get interesting.


	2. Chapter Two (Past)

  
Author's notes: A trip down memory lane...  


* * *

Disclaimer: Chapter One

Chapter Two

La Vie Boheme Nightclub, Wizarding Sector, Las Vegas

The music pounded through his body, the bass making his very bones pulse to the beat.  
This was the life.  
Hundreds of other bodies pressed in around him as he made his way to the silver pole in the centre of the dancefloor. This steel column had helped him ensnare many a willing body for the evening, and Harry had no doubt that tonight would be no different. After all, he certainly looked the part: black high-heeled 'fuck me' boots reached just past his knees, and the tight black mini-skirt showed the smooth expanse of his thighs to great effect. The equally skin-tight scarlet singlet top matched his lipstick, and his eyes were smudged with kohl. As he swung around the pole his long black hair whipped around him, effectively clearing a space for better viewing – everyone loved to see Harry dance. He could feel the eyes on him already, and took great delight in showing off his best moves.  
Somehow, he felt tonight was going to be significant, and he wanted to look his very best.

~~~69~~~

It had been a long day – too long, really. The goblins had insisted on a scry conference that had taken up most of the morning, and then Draco had been forced to travel to Las Vegas to check up on a hotel casino that had borrowed from Gringotts International. Tedious work, since the manager had fed him every line in the book as to why the repayments were late, and Draco had been forced in the end to threaten them with receivership before the man had shut up and agreed to pay up before next week.  
Honestly, he just needed a drink. Preferably a highly alcoholic one.  
Which is how he found himself in La Vie Boheme. Clearly a club for those who are a bit... different, LVB pulsed with music and promised all a good time. So far, it had yet to disappoint him – both men and women (and those in between) had given him appreciative glances, and he'd hardly bothered to change; simply slipping into leather pants and leaving the white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.  
It was someone not looking his way that grabbed his attention however. As he sipped his mohjito, Draco found himself staring at the beautiful brunette dancing around the pole in the centre of the floor. Something in him said 'you know this person', but he couldn't imagine where from – they were certainly behaving differently than when they'd last met. Deciding that it would be easier to recall if he got a closer look, Draco downed his drink and made his way down to the dancefloor.

~~~69~~~

Harry slid down the pole, stepped back slightly, and found pale arms wrapped around his torso.  
“I know I've seen you before, gorgeous. Care to remind me?” The voice was pure British aristocrat, and Harry had to grin as he leaned into the embrace. No-one from back home ever recognised him, so he'd clearly been mistaken for someone else.  
“Honey, I don't think I'm your girl.” The torso pressed against his back shook slightly in silent laughter.  
“Gorgeous, if that's your way of letting me know there's a cock under your skirt – I figured as much. I'm sure I know you.” Now Harry was worried – a Brit recognising that he's male?! Not so good then. The last thing Harry needed was some ex-Griffindor begging him to go back. Yet he didn't pull away from the stranger. Something wasn't as he expected here...  
“Why don't you just turn around and put yourself out of your misery, hm?” Actually, not such a bad idea, although Harry was sure he'd miss the warm comfort those arms afforded. Deciding to do this the band-aid way, Harry quickly spun around and stepped back.  
He didn't recognise him. There was a sense of deja vu, something niggling in the back of his mind, but no solution seemed forthcoming.  
“I'm sorry, but I don't think I do know you. You must be mistaken.” 'Thankfully', he tacked on in his mind. The man was stunning, platinum blond hair feathering down to just brush his shoulders, piercing blue-grey eyes and sculpted features. Taller than Harry, although only just while he was in heels, he had to be about 6'3'', and lightly muscled. Clearly, the kind of guy who made regular trips to the gym.  
The disconcerting thing was the strangers reaction, however. He looked shocked, yet strangely pleased.  
“No, I'm definitely right. You are from Britain; ex-Hogwarts? I know I recognise your eyes.” His eyes? Harry'd never thought anyone could recognise his eyes. Some Potter-fan from way back? It would explain why he didn't recognise the man, but was himself recognised in turn.  
“Yes, well – I'm trying to lie low here, if you don't mind...” The man grinned.  
“Not at all – but I simply must demand a dance. If I may?” He held out a hand, and Harry smiled as he accepted.  
After all, how could he refuse an offer like that?

Harry doubted he'd had this much fun in years. The blond was a terrific dancer, and they'd spent most of the night locked together in blatant insinuation of what they hoped could happen later on. They'd even bought each other drinks, Harry insisting that just because he prefered to dress like a girl didn't mean he couldn't pay his own way; the blond pointing out that he had plenty of cash to spare.  
It was starting to get light when the blond finally turned to him and said,  
“I need to get to bed... work tomorrow. But maybe I could call you?” Harry couldn't resist trading numbers with a wink -  
“Make sure you do.”

~~~69~~~

For Draco, the next day was torture. He was desparate to see Harry again, to sink back down into those warm limbs and emerald eyes for as long as he could. But everything seemed to conspire against him: further trips to wizarding hotels and casinos, a meeting at the nearest Gringotts branch, even a quick lunch with Pansy (on holiday, the lucky cow). Consequently he didn't have a chance to check his scrying mirror all day, and found himself praying that Harry hadn't called himself but was waiting for Draco to do the calling; and then he found himself fretting over whether or not Harry would truly want him to call.  
His memories of the parting wink helped squash these thoughts, thankfully, and Draco whipped out his scryer as soon as he got back to his hotel room.  
“USA-NV-42781-009”, he stated to the scryer, trying to keep the tremor of excitement out of his voice – it would only confuse the comand.  
The surface of the mirror shimmered, waiting for Harry to answer, and Draco resisted the urge to pace as he watched the silvery swirls like a hawk. Finally, they focused on Harry's face.  
“Hey beautiful”, he murmured, winking cheekily as he had the night before. Draco could feel his pulse race – the chemistry was definitely still there.  
“Been a hard day for you, baby?” Harry crooned, and Draco nodded dazily before shaking himself awake.  
“Yes, but lets not talk about that. You don't want to hear about banking.” Harry sniggered slightly, and Draco couldn't help smirking back.  
“Why don't you come over for a drink?” It clearly wasn't what Harry was expecting, but he readily agreed to meet at Draco's hotel in half an hour.


	3. Chapter Three (Past)

  
Author's notes: What they get up to that night...  


* * *

Disclaimer: Chapter One

Chapter Three

As Harry stepped into the hotel foyer he bit back a gasp. The building hadn't looked terribly flash from outside, just an old white tower really, but inside...  
Inside was a palace. Obviously this guy was loaded. Everything was done in light creamy tones with hints of gold trimming and a blond wood, but the materials clearly cost a fortune, and the clercs at reception were dressed immaculately. Looking at them, Harry was struck by sudden terror. He could hardly go up to one of them, a man dressed as a woman, and ask for the handsome blond man, could he? He froze, and someone walked into him from behind.  
“Pardon me Miss, but are you here to see-”  
“Harry!” Turning from the nervous looking woman, Harry saw the man leap the bottom stairs of a great winding staircase and fairly slide the next few metres to greet him with a grin. The blond turned to the woman as he grasped Harry's arm;  
“Don't worry Lydia, I decided to come down. Feel free to take the afternoon off.” As Lydia nodded and departed, Harry sent a questioning look to his companion.  
“She's my secretary, I asked her to keep a look out once I realised I hadn't given you my room number.” Ok, so he stays in the most expensive wizarding hotel, spent his day banking, and had his own secretary – now Harry was positive they couldn't have met.  
That wasn't going to stop him having a good time however.

~~~69~~~

Draco couldn't help feeling like a bit of a show-off as he watched Harry inspect his suite: ironically, he actually owned it, and had named it after his mother – the Narcissa Suite. Harry clearly wasn't about to comment on the choice of name however, as he quickly found the spa.  
Sheltered from the elements by glass panels (and warded against intruders/photographers), the spa itself was rimmed with black marble tiles and sunken down into the floor – but most importantly had room for at least ten.  
Harry looked down at it, grinned, and stripped off everything before stepping down into it.  
Draco could only gape at him. Harry's body was truly stunning. Obviously, the breasts were a new addition, clearly created by some of the best magical surgeons in the US. Every muscle was toned and gleamed with a golden tan that could only have come from nude tanning, and his cock was quite frankly better than even he had hoped. But Harry's best feature was undoubtedly his arse, and Draco had just been given an incredible view of it before it had slipped beneath the water.  
His mouth dry, he hardly registered that Harry was trying to get his attention.  
“So... are you coming in?” he grinned.

Harry couldn't help himself as he blatantly watched the blond remove his clothes. Every movement was slow and graceful, yet distracted – whilst this was not intended to be a strip-tease, it had inadvertantly become one to Harry. It was pure torture to watch each piece softly fall to the ground, calmly revealing inches of smooth alabaster skin, and Harry felt that he couldn't take much more when finally, finally, the man was down to his jockeys.  
Instead of removing them as Harry was so desparately willing him to with his mind, he instead started walking away.  
“Hey! Where do you think you're going?!” Harry couldn't stave of the blush as the man shot back over his shoulder;  
“Towels. Might want them later, yes?” and smirked. Harry turned from the edge and leaned back, closing his eyes in order to silently berate himself for being an idiot.

He was startled from his contemplation by smooth lips against his, and quickly responded. He flicked his tongue out against the insistent mouth and was rewarded with a slick tongue invading his own mouth and inciting him to further wantoness. Honestly, what was it about this man that made Harry burn, made him want to conquer yet submit all at once and leave his inhibitions at the door? He wasn't always so forward – certainly he'd never had sex with a stranger. But those hands on his hips, the thumbs softly kneading his flesh, and the mouth on his own... Harry knew he was lost and simply didn't care.  
Slowly, the hands slid up his sides, and the mouth pulled away, causing Harry to whimper slightly and open his eyes. The mercury of his companion's eyes was almost gone, the pupils dilated in pure lust, and Harry knew he himself looked the same – panting slightly, lips pinker than before, and eyes clouded.  
“Are you sure you want this?” The concern and tenderness in the blond's voice startled Harry slightly, and he let his surprise show.  
“Honey, are you seriously implying you could still stop? Because I can't.” The surprise transferred from his own face to the other's, and Harry smirked as he pressed a forceful kiss to the platinum strands above the man's left ear.  
The blond groaned, sinking further down into the water and pulling Harry up and against him, so that his face was level with Harry's nipples. As he slipped one into his mouth, Harry moaned and grasped the water-darkened strands against the nape of his neck. How Harry knew to do that, Draco would never know, but his neck had always been extremely sensitive. He redoubled his efforts, devouring as much of Harry's chest as he could and making the brunette writhe against him in ecstacy.  
Finally he moved lower, forcing Harry to rise as he did so until that beautiful hard cock was level with his mouth. Clearly realising what came next, Harry's cock twitched slightly as he gazed down at the blond hair starkly contrasting with his own dark curls.  
Draco smirked as he snaked his tongue out and slowly (to Harry, agonisingly) licked firmly up the throbbing vein on the underside of Harry's shaft. The brunette groaned deeply as he did so, and Draco would've sucked him down then and there if it hadn't been for the hand in his hair tugging him back gently. He let his hands rest on Harry's arse as the brunette brought himself down to face Draco properly.  
“Not like that – I want you to come in me, and I want to come with you.” It was blunt, to the point, and Draco couldn't help thinking that it was the most erotic thing he'd ever heard. No-one had ever spoken to him like that, simply letting him do as he pleased, and the slightly begging tone Harry employed nevertheless contrasted sharply in his mind. He grinned at the beautiful creature before him and whispered,  
“Maybe I should get some lube then, hmm?” Harry just grinned back at him, sliding back in the water to allow Draco greater movement.  
It surprised him when he realised the blond wasn't getting out however.  
“Um, shouldn't you-”  
A small container flew towards them, and Harry was shocked to note that his companion had summond it both wandlessly and nonverbally. He smiled ruefully.  
“You really are Mr. Perfect, aren't you?” Draco chose not to reply, instead setting the pot down on the nearest tiles. He gestured to Harry to come closer, and the brunette acquiesced without complaint.  
Lifting himself out of the water and hauling Harry after him, Draco made for the nearby deck-chair. He himself lay down on it, pulling Harry towards him and allowing the brunette to lean forward and plunder his mouth as he himself dipped two long fingers into the lube pot.  
Spreading Harry's arse with one hand, he lazily circled the tight hole within with one of the slicked fingers, smirking up into Harry's face as the brunette gasped and pushed back against both hands.  
“This what you wanted, beautiful?” he whispered, as Harry moaned and gasped. He thrust one finger just inside the tight ring of muscles, and was rewarded with a desparate whine from his lover.  
“Yes, I'd have to say it is.” Harry glared at him as he stilled, and managed to spit out through gritted teeth:  
“I swear if you're not in me in the next ten seconds I'm just going to lock myself in your bathroom and wank myself raw.”  
Draco gulped slightly as they looked into each other's eyes. Harry really wasn't kidding – there was enough frustration there that Draco could hardly believe it was his fault. But he pushed aside his own flash of insecurity with a wry grin, and pushed both fingers firmly up inside the brunette.  
Harry pumped himself back on them, muttering 'yes, yes, yes, yes', and Draco decided that neither of them could really last that much longer. There had always been a kind of passionate intensity between them both, and it clearly translated powerfully into sex – he himself was leaking profusely, and Harry was riding his fingers like a demon.  
Quickly removing his fingers (to a moan of distress), Draco dipped back into the pot, coating himself liberally. Harry noticed – before Draco could truly process how it had happened, Harry had slammed down on his slicked cock and started riding him just as intently as he had been before.  
God it felt good: so tight, so thick, so filling. Neither man could manage a truly coherent thought, and it was clear they weren't going to last long. So hot, so good, so beautiful. This was their world.  
As Harry suddenly screamed and clenched around him, fingernails digging into his shoulders, Draco's world narrowed down to a pin point – and exploded. He screamed Harry's name as he crashed, and his vision blanked for a moment.

~~~69~~~

After a few minutes of lying there, Harry slightly crushing Draco, the brunette finally stirred sleepily.  
“Well, I don't know about you, but I think that was the best fucking orgasm of my life. Although I wish I could've yelled your name.” Draco sat up on his elbows, looking at Harry in concern.  
“What do you mean?” he asked nervously. Harry blinked.  
“Um, you never actually told me your name?” At Draco's horrified look, Harry began to babble.  
“Look, I know you know my name, but heaps of people do, and I'm so sorry I didn't ask or anything, but really, I don't normally do this I swear, and -”  
“Harry.” His name was uttered with such sadness and horror that Harry paused to look at the man beneath him.  
“You really don't know me? I'm so sorry Harry – I thought you did, truly, or I wouldn't have done this to you.” Now Harry was really worried; the blond sounded like he'd committed a crime. Harry stood up and gently pulled his partner into the spa with him. Calmed by the warm water, he screwed up his courage and asked  
“Alright. Who are you then.” The blond winced in anticipation.  
“Draco Malfoy.”


	4. Chapter Four (Present)

  
Author's notes: A bit of insight into the time between Harry's departure and Draco's - from a Weasley point of view.  


* * *

Disclaimer: Chapter one

Chapter Four

Ron Weasley was bored. Actually, if anyone had cared to ask, he would've described himself as being 'bored shitless, but at least I'm not at home'. This might have raised a few eyebrows, but Ron's youngest child Matilda was teething – and spent most of the day screaming her head off. Unfortunately the usual potion contained an ingredient that poor Matty was allergic to, and the little girl was having to suffer the pain without it.  
Of course, boredom in the office is generally only slightly better than being worked relentlessly. Normally Ron was run off his feet, and at any other time of year he would be at home right now taking a much needed break. You see, since Harry had disappeared at the end of the final battle, Ron had rather filled the void – and better than anyone had expected. He'd passed Auror training with flying colours, and risen quickly through the ranks thanks to his expertise with Dark Wizards (particularly Death Eaters). He was currently the youngest Head of the Auror Department ever, and normally quite proud of himself. Today, he'd quite like to be someone else, thanks.

Murphy's Law: when you think life has hit rock bottom, it will get worse.

“Auror Weasley? It's, well, Auror Weasley, sir.” His secretary, Jenna, blushed profusely as he nodded. Jenna always felt like a right prat when she had to announce one of his family – especially Ginny.  
Ginny had become an Auror not long after her brother, and it had helped change her completely from the little girl with a Harry Potter crush. Gone were the long waves of fiery hair, gone was any indication of girlyness – and gone were the men. That had been one hell of a family dinner.

“Mum, Dad; I'm a lesbian.”

Molly Weasley had fainted, and it had taken quite some time to bring her round. It turned out that Ginny had begun dating Luna during training, and realised that girls were, well, 'more her thing'. It hadn't really bothered Ron that much, certainly less so than the others, leading to their current close relationship.

“How's home life going, Ron?” Ginny collapsed her tall frame into the nearest chair and smirked at him. She knew full well how it was.  
“Oh, you know – life's life. Why're you here?” Ginny's smirk turned to a scowl.  
“I need you to take me off guard duty at the Finance Offices.” Ron blinked at her in confusion. Ginny was on guard duty rather than desk by request – a nasty knee injury on her last case had her out of the field for another month yet.  
“But Gin, I thought you wanted to be a guard? You said 'anything but desk duty', so -”  
“Yes, well, that was before Draco Malfoy came back.” Ron blinked again, shook his head, tried to make that sentence fit into something else in his head.  
“Did you just say Malfoy's back?!” Clearly, Ron hadn't been reading the papers – why would you when it's just full of your work? Ginny sighed in frustration, running her fingers through her chin-length curls. Carefully she explained everything, thoughtfully adding in that since she would have to guard Malfoy, she'd rather work in filing for the next year. Ron just looked as though Satan had returned from holiday.

Not that Malfoy was evil, exactly. His wife certainly refused to hear a word against the man, and Merlin knows that had caused a few arguments. It's just that he was, say, a bit...  
Cocky.  
Perfectionist.  
Sarcastic.  
Too rich for his own good.  
Knew exactly how rich that was.  
And was friends with the Goblins.  
Now, Ron knew that was a bit speciest of him to think, and never said anything. But the fact remained that he'd never liked goblins, for all that Bill worked with them. They were sneaky, snarky, and quite frankly put him in mind of Slytherins (but concentrated, somehow). That in turn always led back to Bloody Malfoy, and Ron hated how that prick could be at the root of all that Ron hated -  
and still be likeable.  
Because damnit, Malfoy was likeable. He had charm, grace, impeccable manners and tact – things Ron had never had, and wished he could somehow emulate. If it were possible, Ron would hate the git just for being too damn bloody perfect for other people to live up to.  
But he couldn't. Malfoy had been practically family until his departure for the US three years ago. He'd made a point of getting in touch with Andromeda and Teddy (still wrote to/scryed the boy constantly), and had been instantly inducted into the Weasleys following a brief fling with George. Grudgingly, everyone admitted that Malfoy had helped George move on after Fred's death, and since the two were still friends – well, Malfoy would have to be invited to dinner.

It was all a bit difficult, really, and he knew Ginny could see it in his expression. He didn't want to like the Ferret, knew that if there was the slightest thing wrong with dinner an improvement would be suggested and Ron's robes inevitably critiqued, but...  
“Sorry Gin. I'd rather have you there than anyone else. At least you know kind of how to handle him. I'd hate to see what he'd do to anyone else...”

~~~69~~~

The interviews were driving him insane. Honestly, was it too much to ask for a secretary who didn't want the job simply so she could stare at him?! Nearly all of them had been young girls, and without fail every single one of them had tried to give him their number. The highlight had been a young man however – he'd practically jumped straight into Draco's lap, and had been sent out with an Auror he didn't recognise. Harry'd thought it was funny.

There was one Auror around who he had recognised however. Ginny Weasley had been slinking around, trying to avoid him, and he had been amusing himself by making that as difficult as possible; getting his own coffee (normally this would be far too plebian), fetching his own supplies (even when he didn't need them) and even just 'going for a stroll' around the department to 'clear my head'. She had certainly caught on to the game, and it was just getting good when Harry decided to stop by for lunch.  
“Um, Draco? Why are you getting your own tea?” Draco just gave him a shark-grin and pointed towards Ginny's back.  
“I'm seeing if she's still got her touch.” Harry still looked confused, but Draco had decided now was the moment to attack; she'd been intercepted by an ex-girlfriend, and was clearly a bit stuck. He plastered on his best surprise face and spun her around to face him.

“Ginny!” He was good, she'd give him that – if she hadn't been playing cat-and-mouse with him all day she probably would've been taken in. Refusing to back down, she hurriedly plastered on a grin and hugged him as though they were old friends (which technically she supposed they were – if you discounted the first several years). Pulling back, she managed a real grin: Draco was not known for his cuddly nature.  
“I heard about the new girl, Red – bit too sneaky for your taste, isn't she?” The girl behind Ginny scowled as Draco had guessed she would, and Ginny felt herself tense. Really, would Draco ever fail to get to her?  
“What about your girl, Blondie? Bit too female, isn't she?” Whilst Draco enjoyed the company of both sexes, Ginny knew better than most that Draco liked a big cock and firm arse better than anything. To her surprise though, a triumphant grin spread across his face.  
“Don't recognise my man, Weasley? For shame.” He barely allowed himself to absorb her shocked face, before turning to face his lover.  
“Shall we go to lunch, Harry?”


	5. Chapter Five (Past)

  
Author's notes: Will there be something more? Harry damn well thinks there should be, but Draco's still in hiding...  


* * *

Disclaimer: Chapter One

Chapter Five

'Of course', Harry thought, 'I should've known'.  
Who else looked like a sculpture with a lunar colour scheme?  
Who else rolled in Galleons?  
Who else had that air of confidence/arrogance that only came from a lifetime as an aristocrat?  
Certainly, the only person fitting that description that had also attended Hogwarts with him was Draco Malfoy.  
Quite frankly, Harry felt like an idiot.  
Strangely though, it wasn't his own stupidity that he was focusing on – it was Malfoy's face. He looked like he'd received a heavy blow, or maybe been convicted of murder and sentenced to Azkaban. It made Harry realise that Malfoy regretted doing it, regretted having sex with Harry.  
And that was what made him mad.  
“You regret this, don't you?! Don't even bother lying to me Malfoy, I'm really not in the mood. I don't regret a moment of any of this I'll have you know, and-”  
Draco pressed his fingers gently against Harry's lips, halting the tirade as calmly as he could, and Harry could truly see the difference the years had made. Before, Draco Malfoy had been a spoiled child, a terrified teenager – heck, the last time Harry had seen him was right after his trial (accquitted), and he'd looked so skeletal and desolate no-one had really wanted to go near him. But this was a strong, beautiful man, and a part of Harry wanted to know how this had happened – and an even greater part wanted to know what more would change, or reveal itself to him, if he stayed.  
“Harry, I don't regret the act itself – I regret that it was under false pretences. I knew the moment I saw you again that I wanted this, and I wish I'd told you from the beginning who I was. Can you forgive me?”  
Forgive him? 'For what!' screamed his thoughts.  
“Draco, clearly neither of us are who we were last time we saw each other – hell, it was seven years ago now. So, maybe we could start over properly?” He held out his hand, and saw the recognition in Draco's eyes. He shook Harry's hand -  
and started to laugh. It was a beautiful laugh, of course, but Harry couldn't help but be a bit annoyed.  
“What's so bloody funny?”  
“Harry, we're standing naked in a spa after screwing ourselves stupid, and shaking hands? A little bit backward, don't you think?” Harry had to admit he had a point, and allowed Draco to pull him closer, let the pale fingers rest on his hips.  
“How about we skip the 'just friends' part?” he remarked with a cheeky grin, and Harry couldn't help giggling as Draco pressed light kisses down his neck and across his shoulders.  
In the end, it was rather inevitable that Harry stayed the night, sleeping curled up like a kitten against his new lover.

~~~69~~~

Breakfast the next morning was a rather quiet affair. Draco got up relatively early, ordering up Room Service French Toast and leaving Harry to order his own eggs (scrambled). Harry found himself lying in the opulent four-poster for quite some time, thinking about what happened; and of course what he was going to do about it.  
Clearly Malfoy had not changed completely – he still thought of himself first (exhibit A: breakfast), and his morning beauty routine was of such length and exactitude that it couldn't be that different to what he'd done at Hogwarts. But there were also clear differences, and ones that Harry wanted to know more about.

For starters, since when was Malfoy gay? Ok, so with breasts Harry knew that he couldn't make assumptions, but Draco was certainly giving out a strong impression of liking men. In Hogwarts he'd been quite clearly with Pansy Parkinson, who was quite feminine and pretty, even if her attitude towards anyone other than pureblood Slytherins was hideous. Then again, Harry himself had gone out with Cho and Ginny, so going out with girls was not a good determining factor of 'gayness'. Obviously this was something he needed to ask the blond himself if he wanted a definite answer – which Harry did.

In fact, as he lay there Harry found himself becoming quite determined. Draco Malfoy was gorgeous, rich, intelligent and charming: really, he'd be a fool if he didn't try to make something of this. They'd certainly connected on a physical level – was it so strange to consider an actual relationship? His mind made up, he showered and flung on one of Draco's shirts, magicking clean his underwear and making sure he looked as though he was there to stay.  
Because in a way, he was.

~~~69~~~

Draco himself was out of sorts all through his meeting with the head of the local branch. His head was in a complete mess – talking economics in Gobbledegook and thinking about your love life in english are not easily achieved at the same time. He was managing, but with limited success. Every now and then he drifted off, and the goblins were obviously concerned; it was quite unlike him to be anything but professional.

This was not a usual occurrence for Draco however. He'd been single for quite some time, no-one having really caught his eye since he broke up with George Weasley (and even that had really just been a six-month sexathon). Harry felt different, as though it was more than physical somehow; yet he was terrified. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter in a relationship? Hell, what were the chances of Potter agreeing to one? Just because Draco knew he wanted more (even if he wasn't sure about what that meant), how could he be certain that Harry felt anything more than, well...

Physical attraction (possible)

Love of Draco's money (that had happened a lot)

A need for revenge (less likely, but it had happened too)

Circe, if anyone knew Draco had done such things with someone like Harry! Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy was an upstanding pureblood, pillar of society etc and all that such things entail – he could hardly go having a relationship with a, well... you know, even if they are Harry Potter! And Potter would hardly agree to be a secret lover.  
It was quite the conundrum, and discussing the latest international transfer system with Mortreth in a different language to his own was NOT helping.


	6. Chapter Six (Present)

  
Author's notes: An awkward lunch with the Minister and an old friend.  


* * *

Disclaimer: Chapter One

Chapter Six

'Of course' she thought, 'I should've known'. Ginny of all people knew that everyone can change drastically over time, and really as someone who'd known Harry so well she was rather disappointed in herself for not even registering the similarities.  
The green eyes, the wild black hair, the short stature (although she had to admit the heels helped) – Harry even had glasses on, though they were clearly designer and nothing like his old chunky ones. The outfit was certainly more designer too, although obviously anyone dating Draco Malfoy had to be willing to dress luxuriously – Harry's pencil skirt was quite plain, but the charcoal fabric had to have been expensive, and so was the silk for his white shirt. The black robes she could recognise as this seasons Dramatique (the emerald silk lining was a dead give-away), and the boots!  
Even lesbians can like shoes, and Ginny's new girlfriend had been moaning about being unable to get these ones. Really, it was lucky Harry had always had smallish feet – these were women's shoes, by SaberTooth, and exquiste. Ridiculously high steel heels, the rest was in emerald green satin, and made to look kind of like spatz, with steel domes running up the sides. They came up to mid-thigh, disappearing under the skirt hem, and Ginny couldn't stop herself from running her eyes up them before realising what she had done and blushing terribly.  
Verity stalked off in a huff as Draco caught her out, grinning toothily like the predator he'd always been.  
“Oh, yes... um, hi, Harry.” she stammered, luckily managing to maintain a reasonable air of dignity as she reached out to shake his hand. It was truly surreal in many ways, but she felt immense relief as Harry grinned at her – that part of him hadn't changed. He still smiled like the sun, even after everything they'd all been through, and for that she couldn't help but be grateful.  
“Maybe you could join us for lunch? If you can get off work, that is?” Ginny found herself torn. Ok, so she wanted to catch up with Harry – but that would obviously entail spending time with Draco... although speaking of 'spending'...  
“I take it lunch is on Draco?” she smirked. Draco just grinned.  
“Don't be silly Red – it's on Longbottom.”

~~~69~~~

It turned out that Draco had arranged a 'work-lunch' with Neville, who was more than happy to have Ginny attend as his guard. Looking between Neville and the other two however, Ginny came to an uncomfortable realisation – no-one recognised Harry. Even Neville, who'd practically worshipped Harry for a while and had lived with him for years, didn't make the connection between the Griffindor hero and Draco's beautiful girlfriend.

They made their way to Cafe d'Oro, one of Draco's old favourites, and were promptly seated by one of the most snobby waitresses Ginny had ever encountered. It was clear that this was not Neville's choice of eatery, and when Draco ordered 'my usual', she wondered how he'd managed to blatantly boss the Minister of Magic around in less than 48 hours of employment. Harry seemed unconcerned, quietly sipping imported fejoa juice and smiling slyly at Ginny as she gulped her water. Her nerves were as clear as Neville's – Draco was in charge.  
“Honestly Longbottom, the entire department is a disgrace. You're trying to work with the goblins – but somehow nobody in the place speaks a word of Gobbledegook! It's the international language of wizarding finance! Something needs to be done, and I am counting on you to back me up in this?” Poor Neville could only stammer affirmations to Draco's demands as the waitress returned for their meal orders, ultimately making things worse. Despite the fact that she was stunning and clearly quite happy to kiss the arse of Britains most important men, Neville was certainly not the most important in her eyes. While she replyed simperingly to the Minister's inquiries, she constantly deferred to Draco (as though he were some sort of God); looking to Harry, she was horrified to see that he found it amusing. This wasn't the Harry she'd known, not really – that Harry would have flown into a rage on his friend's behalf. But when she stopped to think about it, Ginny realised that as Harry's lover, Draco got that loyalty first – and if he was lying low, as she currently suspected, defending someone he'd supposedly never met was probably not the best idea.

Thankfully, Draco prefered to eat in relative silence – something to do with being brought up 'Malfoy', apparently.Talking was somehow rude. Abruptly after finishing his food, Neville whipped out his scryer.  
“Oh, yes... of course, I'll be in right away. No really, it's no trouble. No, really! I shall be in shortly.” he muttered, relief spreading across his face. He pocketed the small mirror, standing hastily.  
“So sorry, got to go – Ministry business of course. I suspect I'll see you around?” He looked apprehensive, to which Draco only smirked.  
“Actually Minister we have a meeting with the various Financial Secretaries tomorrow afternoon – we'll see each other soon.” The slight emphasis on 'soon' wasn't lost on anyone; Draco wasn't trying to be subtle. As Neville hurried over to the cafe Floo, Ginny turned a glare onto him.  
“Draco, are you incapable of not trying to intimidate everyone, or do you just like doing it?” To her surprise, Harry belted out a sparkling laugh, clearly pleasantly surprised. At her bemused expression, he explained that he'd become far too used to such control techniques from his lover towards others, and that it was nice to know that a Weasley would still challenge a Malfoy. Draco too was grinning – he'd been hoping for such a reaction, she knew, and she couldn't help but suspect that it was his plan all along; to remind Harry of what the people he'd left behind were like, both then and now.

“Go on, Ginny – ask whatever you want. Although I can't promise an answer.” The grin was pure Harry, and she started as she realised she'd been caught staring.  
“Well, what about the outfit, for starters!” Harry laughed, looking down at his cleavage between the upper buttons of his silk top.  
“Actually, that's the easiest question – I was in Las Vegas, and a girl I met there convinced me to try it. Liked it so much, I made the change permanent.” He grinned sideways at Draco, and Ginny immediately suspected there was more to the story than just 'some girl' – a lover, maybe? But she didn't push the issue, prodding at her salad as she thought about her next question.  
“How much do you know about everyone back here? I mean, how much has Draco told you?” Harry shifted a little uneasily at this, glancing at his boyfriend before softly replying,  
“Not much, Draco believes people have a right to their own story. Although, Pansy mentioned something...” The look on her face must have been misinterpreted from surprise to outrage, as he abruptly cut off and turned to his lover for help. Ever the gentle lover, Draco muttered softly to him;  
“She's not upset, Kitten – just surprised Pansy would say anything.” It was true: the idea that Pansy would admit she was dating a female Weasley to anyone, especially Lord Malfoy, was quite shocking. Ginny had been begging her to at least let Ginny tell her family, even if Pansy didn't want her own mother to know. That she told Draco meant, well... that she really did care. Ginny felt herself tearing up and blinked them away before they were noticed. Draco simply gave her an understanding look, before shaking his head and pinching Harry's arm.  
“Ow! What was that for!”  
“Making me depressed at lunch. I was on Cloud Nine after Longbottom and you just had to go making an emotional mess of things – again. Honestly, Griffindors!” At that Harry and Ginny both burst out laughing, and the air was cleared enough for inane chatter about what each had been up to – Ginny's job and choice of girl, Draco's job, and of course; how the boys met in Vegas.

As she left them to return to work, Ginny couldn't help a smirking at the thought of how everyone would react to the Return of Harry Potter: As A Girl/Boy... It was going to be great.  
She even had to hold back a laugh when she thought about how her own family was going to take this news.  
'Harry,' she thought, 'you really know how to get a reaction'.


	7. Chapter Seven (Present)

  
Author's notes: A Family Dinner.  


* * *

Disclaimer: Chapter One

Chapter Seven

'Lord Draco Malfoy,  
You are cordially invited to attend Sunday dinner with the Weasley family this week (as you always used to). Please attend – we're dying to hear what you've been up to.  
Bring the cutie with you.  
Sincerest regards,  
Mrs. D Weasley.'

Draco grinned as he read the letter. She hadn't changed since he'd last seen her – the letter was a typical combination of formal etiquette and informal chatter, and he couldn't help but marvel at how her marriage to Ron had made a difference to the well-bred pureblood witch of his youth.  
“Any plans for dinner on Sunday, Kitten?” he called through his study door. It was Friday evening, and as such Harry had decided to lounge about in the family library.  
“No – why?” he spoke as he walked, stepping through the door and settling himself on the edge of the ancient desk. Draco simply handed him the letter, smirking as Harry frowned to himself.  
“I wish you'd just tell me who she is, you know. And who everyone else ended up with.” Pulling his lover around to face him, Draco grinned and shot him his patented 'I know something you don't, and it makes me happy' face. Really, Draco could be such a smug bastard. He pouted back, trying to get the Slytherin to cave, but forgot one thing – he was sitting on a desk with his legs either side of his partner's.

Draco took Harry's face in his hands, pressing teasing kisses everywhere before finally capturing his lover's lips in a teasing kiss. Harry moaned in annoyance before giving in, sliding forward to the edge of the desk and allowing himself to be quite thoroughly distracted.

Draco slid his hands slowly up Harry's thighs, letting his fingers creep up under the hem of Harry's skirt and stopping just short of his goal. Harry glared at him for this, but Draco loved Harry's skirts; loved to tease his lover slightly before taking him forcefully, wherever they were. Tonight was hardly going to be an exception – they had yet to desecrate the hallowed Malfoy Patriarchal Study, and now was as good a time as any to do so.

Harry slid forward, forcing Draco's hands to glide higher, and his fingertips pressed against the lace of the brunette's underwear. He obediently toyed with the material, teasing gently as Harry leaned down into a smooth kiss. Moments like this were sweet, and Draco found himself needing to refer to it as a chocolate moment – really, how Hufflepuff. With a growl he pulled his lover down astride his own legs, arching up and making Harry gasp in surprise. No matter how often they did this, he found he was never truly prepared for Draco's mood swings.

He was really horrified when he both heard and felt the lace knickers torn from behind. Draco had grabbed both sides of the back seam and wrenched, not only exposing his lover for his own pleasure but destroying the garment.  
“Draco! What the hell?!” The blond just smirked.  
“I'm feeling a tad impatient love.” Harry just muttered something that sounded like 'they were my favourite, bastard' but Draco wasn't listening. Shifting them both slightly he grabbed the lube from his pocket (always be prepared and you'll always get laid), smeared his right fingers with it and thrust two of them up inside his lover with little warning. Harry yelped in surprise, but quickly settled back, thoroughly used to such treatment by now and knowing what they both liked – for Harry to ride the fingers slightly in anticipation.

As he shifted up and down, teasing his Lord with dirty looks and the motions of his body, Draco grinned lazily and flexed his fingers slightly and drank his fill of the scene before him. Harry was gorgeous like this, and Draco constantly thanked Fate that this creature was all his. Deciding that the brunette was ready enough, he roughly exposed himself, removed his fingers and thrust straight up into his lover. Harry moaned, the abrupt intrusion being just what he needed. Riding furiously, Harry looked past Draco's shoulder and, to his horror, straight into the face of Lucius Malfoy. The portrait looked furious. Biting down on Draco's shoulder instead of howling his release, he couldn't help but smirk at the deceased patriarch as the new Master of Malfoy Manor thrust his own release inside his Harry. Draco was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

~~~69~~~

The weekend seemed to fly by with lazy sex and sumptuous meals, and to Harry's great distress Sunday evening arrived all too soon. Having unwillingly agreed to the meal for Draco's sake, Harry couldn't help thinking about how much had changed. Would the Weasley's still accept him? He wasn't really sure what he was the most worried about, and his racing emotions had led to something of a tantrum.  
“Why don't you just wear pants then? You could wear those black pinstriped ones with the black Jimmy Choos? And maybe a white shirt?”  
“I'M NOT GOING TO PANDER TO THEM!”  
“Well, wear that Chanel dress with the -”  
“NO! I WORE THAT JUST LAST MONTH!”  
“Kitten, it's not that big of a deal.”  
Draco got slapped, and decided to let Harry work out his outfit alone.

Eventually they were both ready. Looking down at his sulky lover, Draco couldn't help an indulgent smile. Really, Harry was too adorable. Pressing a kiss to the brunette's fringe, he stepped back towards the fireplace.  
“Still remember where to go?” Harry just scowled up at his smirk in reply. Suppressing a snigger, Draco tossed the Floo powder into the grate.  
“The Burrow!”

~~~69~~~

The fire flashed green, and Draco Malfoy stepped out. George had to admit that time hadn't exactly been hard on him.  
Oh who the hell did he think he was kidding? If anything, Draco looked better – he'd cut his hair shorter and swept back from his face, but George could still remember how soft it was just by looking. And the eyes still gleamed, the skin still glowed... it was all terribly unfair, and if the papers were to be believed he was very much unavailable.

Draco could easily read this inner monologue from George's face. His ex still thought he was gorgeous. Smirking, he held out a hand.  
“George. Good to see you again.”

Shaking his head to try and get a grip, George shakily accepted the profered limb, shuddering slightly at the warmth and softness of Draco's skin. It was clear that Draco still moisturised like mad, and every part of George that had ever been touched by those hands decided to remember it, much to his embarassment. Flushed, he gestured towards the kitchen.  
“Everyone is through there, I'm sure Mum will want to see you.” Using this as an excuse to walk away and hide his blush, he froze at Draco's reply.  
“Actually, I should wait a moment. There's someone I need to re-introduce.”  
As if waiting for the most dramatic moment, the fire again turned green and threw a figure into Draco's waiting arms.  
“Why can I never get the hang of a graceful Floo-entrance?!”

George was floored. The Prophet had actually been right. The brunette was clearly more than just a friend, since Draco's hands remained on her hip and very low on her back. And rather unfortunately for George, she looked stunning. Her dress was expensive-looking, all floaty pale gold fabric, and knee-length. Even George could appreciate the way it showed off her legs, letting his eyes skim down them to rest on her simple gold heels. He only managed to snap back to attention as Draco held out her cloak (chocolate brown) in expectance of reaction, and he realised Draco had asked him to put it somewhere. Extending a shaky hand he nevertheless managed to flash a brief smile (although it probably looked more of a grimace) and turned away to hang it up behind the door. When he turned back he saw that they'd gone – and that there was no noise coming from the previously rowdy kitchen.

~~~69~~~

Harry steeled himself for a reaction. They'd just stepped into the kitchen, and everyone had fallen silent, staring at him. Feeling himself begin to blush, he turned pleadingly to Ginny just as Draco opened his mouth.  
“Evening all. I'm sure you remember Harry.” Charlie let out a snort of disbelief and grinned at the blond.  
“Yeah, right. What's her real name?” Draco's face remained impassive, and Harry felt himself go redder than he ever had before.  
“I assure you, Charles, Harry is most certainly male.” Ron seemed to choke, eyes wide in horrified disbelief as he tried to take it in, and Harry felt himself snap.  
“Look, I'll just go. This is silly – you should catch up with your friends, I'll have an early night.” He tried to pull away, but Draco refused to relinquish his hold upon Harry's waist, and Ron had leapt up to grab his arm.  
“No, stay. I didn't mean anything, I swear. It's just a bit of a shock. No-one even knew that you're gay!” Surprised, Harry turned back to his former friend. Ron really had changed as much as Ginny and Draco had said; gone was the judgemental teen, and in his place was an open-minded husband and father of two. Harry hadn't wanted to believe it, hadn't dared hope he could repair that friendship. But he had to accept that Draco knew what he was talking about.  
“Thanks, Ron. I guess I'm not the only one to have changed, huh?” Ron just grinned in reply, and the woman behind him smiled at them both.  
“Aw, the Griffindor's are all grown up!” This seemed to be what everyone needed to hear, and the room rang with laughter as Ron dragged Harry back into the sitting room. The blonde woman who'd broken the ice came with them, and as Ron pulled her down into his lap Harry realised that she was the one who'd written – one of Draco's oldest friends.  
For a moment they just sat there, the Weasley's taking in Harry's appearance as he took in theirs. They looked happy, and reasonably well-off: the woman had her hair swept up in an elegant bun and wore a simple green dress and flats, while Ron had left his hair long and wild and wore faded jeans with a white t-shirt screaming 'I Heart Slytherins'. Harry could hardly process the irony of Ron, the staunch Griffindor, even talking to Slytherins, before the red-head spoke.  
“Harry, I'd like you to meet my wife, Daphne. She was in Slytherin with Draco.” Harry tried to hide his shock, but obviously failed.  
“Yes, I know – Ron Weasley and Daphne Greengrass?! But we find that as long as we avoid the whole 'which House is better?' argument, we're good together.” she smiled, and Harry knew exactly why they worked. Daphne was polite and kind, but as a Slytherin knew how to control a hot-tempered Griffindor like Ron, and he in turn looked after her. In a way, it made him regret not returning to Ginny after defeating Voldemort, because maybe he too could have had this happy domestic life. Of course, realistically speaking this wouldn't have worked, but it was a nice dream. As if sensing Harry's mood, Ginny popped her head around the doorframe.  
“Are you three joining us for dinner or not?”


	8. Chapter Eight (Past)

  
Author's notes: A trip to New York!  


* * *

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Chapter Eight

By the time Draco finally managed to get back to the hotel suite, he'd quite thoroughly expected Harry to have already left in a huff. He was much later than he'd meant to be, having hoped to take Harry out to dinner to talk things over. Unfortunately it was now 9.30pm, and much too late for him to reasonably expect anything more than a slap across the face. He threw his satchel down onto the nearby couch and followed it, closing his eyes in misery.  
“You do remember where you live!” The voice was far too happy to be real, and Draco decided if he was going to start hearing voices he should probably pretend not to.  
“Um, Draco? Are you dead? Tell you what, I'll order some room service for you, we'll both have dessert – I hope you don't mind me helping myself, I got hungry.” Harry stood behind the couch looking down at his 'Sleeping Beauty'. “Draco, seriously – if you don't give any signs of life I'll have to resort to mouth-to-mouth.” No response, but Harry knew he was alive; a wisp of blond hair was moving with his breath. “Well, alright then...”

Someone was kissing him. Either Draco really had gone mad, or maybe -  
His eyes snapped open and instantly locked on the grinning face of Harry Potter, dressed only in women's underwear and his own shirt. He wasn't insane – he'd died and gone to heaven.  
“How did I managed to earn my way into heaven? Thought it was hell for sure.” he muttered, and Harry burst out laughing. It was a nice laugh, but still rather annoying since Draco was sure it was directed at him.  
“And what, pray tell, is so hilarious, my fair angel?” Harry subsided into quiet giggles.  
“Draco – you're not dead. At least, if you are I must be and I really don't remember that happening, so... dinner and dessert ok with you? Of course it is. Let me go order some, hm?” He grinned and sauntered off to find a phone, leaving Draco completely stunned on the couch.

Harry was still here. He was actually HERE. Even after that meeting had gone on forever... Draco had been sure Harry'd never forgive him for leaving without a goodbye and not showing up 'til late, but... He was still here. This amazing revelation was still running through his mind in shock when Harry returned, planting himself next to Draco on the soft couch.  
“So... we should probably talk about this, huh?” Draco turned to look at the man currently running slim fingers across his thigh and fervently wished he didn't have to agree. Instead, he sighed morosely and looked into emerald green eyes.  
“I can't give you what you need, Harry.” A look of pure confusion crossed the brunette's features, and Draco decided now was a good time for complete honesty.  
“Harry, I'm Lord Draco Malfoy, upstanding pureblood etc. – no matter how much I might wish to be otherwise. My very job depends on respectability. You need someone who can be with you, love you completely, you deserve that. I'm... well, I'm an international banker who spends ridiculously long days talking to goblins, and I can't... I can't really take you with me. You'd be far better off with someone else.” He knew he had his 'Perfectly Serious and Honest' face on, but Harry didn't look too convinced.  
“What you really mean is that Lord Malfoy can't go picking up a Trannie in Vegas.” Draco was floored. Merlin, it did sound that way, didn't it? He hadn't meant to, even if it was one of the reasons he thought it would be a bad idea, but he never would have put it that way.  
“No, Harry, I -”  
“Look, tell everyone I'm a woman, I don't care. Do you honestly think I would have sat around here if I planned on giving up that easily?” Draco scrutinised Harry's expression, carefully assessing while giving nothing away, as his father had always told him to. Lucius had certainly had his uses.  
No matter how carefully Draco looked, all he say was truth. Harry liked him at least as much as Draco liked Harry. And the stubborn Griffindor look said everything Draco needed to hear. But he thought maybe it might be a good idea to check anyway.  
“Tomorrow I leave for New York -”  
“I'm coming with you.”  
“You'll have to stay in touch with Lydia.”  
“Give me her scry number then. I'm coming.”  
“I'll be in near constant meetings.”  
“Draco. I'm coming. Just let me grab a few things and let my flatmates know to get a new one.”  
Well, this was it then.

~~~69~~~

Harry felt highly uncomfortable. He was wearing the same underwear charmed clean again (which was never quite the same as fresh ones somehow), the skirt from the club, another of Draco's shirts and some plain flats borrowed from Lydia. His hair was a mess, as usual – all his products were at the flat, and next to Draco and Lydia's polished professional perfection he felt like a street urchin. Draco himself was back at the hotel, organising an extra ticket and so on – Harry was currently stuck in the back of a taxi with Lydia, who seemed to be constantly on her scryer muttering things like 'I'm sorry, Lord Malfoy is currently unavailable', 'How about next week?', and his favourite; 'Please stop calling, Miss – Lord Malfoy is busy'. Of course he couldn't help wondering who kept calling Lydia: she sounded quite persistent, and suspiciously ex/girlfriend like. But he reassured himself that Draco wouldn't have agreed to this (or sucked him off so deliciously) last night if he hadn't meant it. So she must be an ex – current just couldn't make sense.

Finally the taxi pulled up outside Harry's apartment building, and Lydia payed the driver as Harry stepped out onto the sidewalk. Sensing Lydia's distast for the place (it was a bit run down, but still), he quickly punched in the door code and headed up to his flat, part of him praying that the others weren't there.

He was in luck – the place was an absolute tip at the moment, the bottles and so forth giving him reason to believe they'd thrown a party while he was gone. He picked his way carefully across the living room to his door, praying that no-one had gone in whilst he was out. Lydia just glared at the mess in distast, as though willing it to evapourate, but it wasn't really working. Harry just threw everything he could see of importance into bags, knowing his time was limited. They had to be at the airport in an hour. Really, it was annoying that you weren't allowed to portkey or Apparate across States – then again, maybe he could convince Draco to join the Mile High Club...  
He was still grinning at the thought when Lydia stormed in, for once not on her phone.  
“Is there anything else you need, Miss? Because we really need to get going. I assure you that if you require anything once we get to New York it can be purchased for you.” It wasn't meant to be an insult, but Harry felt himself bristling at the implication that he couldn't pay his own way. He had quite a health account with Gringotts, thanks very much, he just preferred to live a more normal life. Nonetheless he held back the snippy comments bursting to be said and instead directed her to the bathroom, requesting that she retrieve everything from the third shelf down.  
Eventually everything was packed, and as Harry scribbled down a brief note to his now former flatmates he heard her once again ordering a taxi via her scryer.  
Dragging his suitcase down the stairs he prayed he didn't have to sit next to her during their flight.


	9. Chapter Nine - Past

  
Author's notes: Draco tells Harry his story.  


* * *

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Chapter Nine

Now, this was the life. First class air travel... Harry grinned to himself and snuggled back into his seat as they prepared for take-off. Everything was perfect. Lydia was travelling in Business Class, along with various others who seemed to be paid to follow Draco around and cater to his every whim: it was just Draco with him in First Class, and apparently they would be landing at JFK airport in just under six hours. He had been assured this meant expensive meals too, so this was definitely going to be worth a long flight.  
“Harry, you need to stop wriggling around. And do up your seatbelt, we're about to take-off.” Harry grinned at Draco as though he hadn't even heard the snappy tone employed by his lover and casually wriggled a bit more before doing up the belt. Simply because it was fun to annoy the stiff man beside him. Turns out Draco doesn't enjoy taking off or landing much...

Once the seatbelt sign was turned off (and Draco looked less like white marble and more like a businessman) Harry decided it was important to know more about what exactly he'd gotten himself into. Especially since it was too late to back out now.  
“So... where are we going, exactly?” Draco turned to him slowly, one eyebrow raised in superiority. “Well, you will be mostly stuck in our suite.” Harry nodded to himself – expected.  
“Which suite would this be, then?”  
“The Ty Warner Penthouse Suite at the Four Seasons. Great views, I promise.” Harry just looked at him in shock. The Penthouse Suite of the Four Seasons?! Just how loaded was Draco Malfoy these days?! His surprise must have been noticed, because Draco launched into an explanation of business deals and Beanie Babies and how Warner was actually letting him stay there at no charge (although of course there would be some payment to the hotel for room service etc.). Harry was simply stunned. Of course he'd known that Draco was rich, the suite at the last place was obviously his and couldn't have been cheap – but this was just staggering. Draco had even started talking about various other billionaires he knew personally (Karl Albrecht – a golfing buddy; Prince Alaweed Bin Talal Alsaud – often talked about economic reforms; Mikhail Khodorkovsky – Draco recommended his current lawyer; etc. ad nauseum) before Harry cut him off.  
“Just how bloody rich are you?!” He hadn't thought it through, he really hadn't. Draco looked furious, and Harry quickly realised how that must have sounded.  
“Um, that is, I didn't mean it to sound like that, I just, wow – you don't act -”  
“Like what? A snob? A capitalist wanker? Tell me Harry, just how am I supposed to act? Yes, I was born into considerable wealth – many relatives both close and distant named me as their heir on the basis of blood. And I built up that wealth – I have a finacial brain. But that does NOT define me.” He clicked his fingers at the airhostess, ordered a brandy and dry, and promptly proceeded to ignore Harry completely.

It was torture. Sitting so close to Draco when he refused to even acknowledge that Harry was there... It had been almost an hour since they'd last spoken, so they had at least four more to go, and Harry couldn't take it. He knew he had to do something – but what? Of course Draco was sensitive about his wealth: he'd probably dealt with gold-diggers before, and Harry's outburst couldn't have been reassuring. What could he do to fix this?  
“Well this is... dismal. Look, Draco, I honestly didn't mean anything, I didn't think! If you'd seen my flat! It was shock, I swear. We've both been through a lot since Hogwarts – don't you think we should talk to each other and find out what's changed? Because that's all I was doing. Well, that and finding out where I'm living until you decide we're moving again...” The corner of Draco's mouth twitched upward slightly, and Harry knew he was getting somewhere. He just needed to be delicate; or rather, bring out his more Slytherin side and ignore the rash Griffindor part.  
“So, obviously you're all buddy with a heap of Muggle Billionaires... what about the people you hung out with at school? What are they doing, do you still see them? Come on, talk to me, you know you want to...” he finished with a sing-song lilt, and Draco gave in to his need to smile. He sighed to himself: Harry was too good at this.  
“Harry, I'm friends with the guy who started up Ebay. I know a lot of people who did well for themselves – whether 'self-made' or 'inherited and building'. All of my friends at school were well off too – because they understood what that is like, understood what growing up wealthy was all about. Many of them are still pretty damn rich; some not so much. But their stories are their own to tell, not mine.  
I can, however, tell you my story.

As you know, I was born to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy on the fifth of June, 1980. My childhood wasn't especially wonderful from my point of view – I had private tutors visit the Manor from the age of four to teach me a lot of things I've never really needed, and plenty of things I wish I hadn't.”  
“Like what? An example of each... if you don't mind...”  
“Well, I've never been required to know that the Bornean Flat-headed Frog doesn't have lungs – unfortunately, I was taught Crucio at the age of seven, and I have regrettabley been forced to use it on muggles.”  
“Oh.”  
“Quite. Anyway, apart from my all-consuming studies I was often introduced to the children of my parent's friends – and they became mine, as I was rather locked up and unable to meet anyone else. The first true friend I ever made was Theodore Nott. Younger than myself, but we had a unique understanding of controlling parents and painfull tutoring sessions that lasted for much of our days. I even studied with my Father on Saturdays – as did Theo. We were fast friends from a very young age, and it was quite disconcerting to start Hogwarts without him.”

“You did have Crabbe and Goyle.”  
“Hah! Yes – my bodyguards. They were always much maligned. Vincent Crabbe was a bit of a nutter – certainly he believed everything his father told him, ultimately suceeding in destroying himself in his blind adhearance. But neither of them were complete idiots. In fact, Gregory is currently a majority shareholder of Cantaloupe Group: you know, they own a lot of restaurants worldwide. I mentioned he should do something he loved, but he made the investment himself. He's married with children, just like most people are becoming these days.  
I have to say though that my first Hogwarts friend who helped open my mind was Blaise Zabini. At the time his mother was distinctly disliked by anyone with old money – the pureblood aristocrats I must call family. In fact Pansy asked me not to speak with him several times before giving in. She was upset at the exclusive friendship, but mostly fearful. She knew better than I how our parents might react.

I was lucky, in the end. Mother convinced Father to allow the friendship on the basis of Blaise's deceased father, despite her distaste for Gloriana and her string of wealthy husbands. And this meant that I was able to learn from Blaise, learn about the ways of the world outside of my cotton-wool bound existence at Malfoy Manor. In fact, Blaise taught me that I actually enjoyed men just as much if not slightly more so than women – although that wasn't until fourth year.  
He was the first person to be honest with me. He told me I was an idiot in how I'd asked for your friendship, insulting Weasley (regardless of family history). I explained to him that I'd never had to make friends before, that everyone I'd met had wanted to be friends with the Malfoys. Blaise laughed and said that maybe if I asked nicely I could be his. From that moment we were close. I confided in Blaise when I simply couldn't talk to anyone else, and he always gave an honest perspective. He even tried to help me avoid taking the Mark – but as you know, he failed.  
Most Slytherins were actually quite against Voldemort. The only ones I know of who willingly joined him were Vincent Crabbe and Graham Montague (currently in Azkaban). I find it endlessly entertaining whenever people say I must be evil because I was in Slytherin – I point out Andromeda Tonks, Severus Snape, even old Slughorn – and then I make a remark about your parents and Peter Pettigrew. That generally shuts them up.

You know much of what happened at Hogwarts. I spent the first three years completely secure in my hatred for everyone different from myself: muggle-borns, half-bloods, half-breeds, blacks, asians, queers, you name it. I was the perfect Malfoy heir. But on the first night of our fourth year I ran into Roger Davies – you know, the Ravenclaw Chaser. He ended up teaching me a few things.”  
“Like what?”  
“Well, for starters he taught me that I liked kissing boys just as much as girls. He was older, sure of himself – I panicked at my own enjoyment of the incident and refused to tell anyone about it except Blaise until now.”

“I thought you said Blaise taught you that you were bi?” Harry queried, his intent expression slipping slightly into a frown of confusion. Draco smiled indulgently.  
“Blaise taught me that it was ok, helped me realise what I felt. He certainly wasn't my first kiss. That was actually Daphne Greengrass – although she did it just to annoy Pansy, we were never actually involved. Pansy was quite possessive of me. Still is, really, but I mostly ignore it. We were never romantically involved, although we pretended to be. Pansy doesn't do men.”  
“WHAT?!”  
“Settle down Scarhead, honestly. We could hardly tell our parents that I'm bi and she's a lesbian, could we? So we pretended to be together, to keep them off our backs. And out of our real private lives...

I'll admit I got around a bit during fourth and fifth. I was experimenting, seeing what I liked and what I didn't. The Quidditch locker rooms proven convenient – Adrian Pucey was a Chaser on the team, and we often used the showers longer than the others, if you get my drift. And Miles Bletchley was our Keeper for quite a few years – he ended up showing me a few tricks too. Of course there were those not in Slytherin. We are talking about a period of discovery afterall. A few Ravenclaws: Michael Corner, even Luna Lovegood. And Hufflepuff even got a look in with Hannah Abbott (I went through a bit of a phase with blonde girls). In the end I had rather a thing for older boys however – they were highly educational. An older girl expects you to get on with it if she knows you're not a virgin, which I clearly wasn't, and younger students were too intimidated to suggest things.”

“Did you ever actually do anything with Blaise Zabini though? I mean, sure, you were a bit of a man-whore. But?” Harry got a shove and a grin for this comment, much to his relief (it had been a bit of a risk to call Draco a slut), and he took a moment to kiss his lover before looking expectant. Draco just sighed again in resignation and continued with his tale.

“Yes, I did. Blaise was the second boy I ever had sex with, and my first time topping. I still thank Adrian for teaching me what to do – he was certainly my greatest teacher, and if it hadn't been for him I might have seriously hurt my best friend. I don't regret any of my experiences during those years. I learnt about my own sexuality in a manner that would have horrified my parents, and realised that race didn't matter to me, nor blood purity. I still believed in my superiority, my duties to the Malfoy lineage, don't get me wrong. But I wasn't that foolish little boy any longer.  
And of course, with Father's imprisonment at the end of fifth year, I really had to open my eyes.

The war, for me, was painful. I did my best to protect my friends and family, and often failed miserably. I try not to think about how different things might have been if I had accepted Dumbledore's offer: would it have worked? Would my friends have suffered without me? The best thing I can say about that time is that I survived to become a better man. I learnt that blood purity means nothing when it comes to feeling pain, or dying; the same with race or sexual preference.

By the way, thanks for your testimony. They told me after my trial that it was largely the Pensieve memories of yourself and other known resistance fighters that enabled me to be fully acquitted.”  
“Your more than welcome.” Draco couldn't resist stroking his fingers along Harry's jaw, and the brunette pulled him into a passionate kiss. They only stopped when Draco realised the hostess standing behind them, blushing slightly as he moved back.

“Your orders? Lunch will be served shortly.” She grinned, and Harry muttered his order to Draco rather than actually turn to look at her. They ended up both having the chicken – in some sort of white wine sauce with camembert and proscuitto, on top of potato gnocci. It was certainly the fanciest meal Harry'd ever had, but he was distracted by his thoughts. Life for Draco had been a far cry from his own, even during Hogwarts when Harry had thought he knew all about Malfoy's movements. Now he only really had to find out about what happened next. Well, and the nasty part – when Draco would ask him what his life had been like...


	10. Chapter Ten - Past

  
Author's notes: Harry's story - and don't worry, it'll be a 'present' chapter next :)  


* * *

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Chapter Ten – Past

“So what happened after Hogwarts? There's a great blank for me between seeing you after your trial and meeting up in a Las Vegas club.” Harry waited for Draco to tidy away his own plates, stacking them on top of Harry's to make it easier for the hostess, and once again settled in for 'story time'. Draco smirked wryly to himself as he continued.  
“I desperately wanted a job. I needed people to see that I wasn't ashamed, that I truly was innocent – many hid themselves away and consequently looked guilty. But I also needed something I was good at, and people willing to employ me.

Thankfully my Mother insisted I study languages quite extensively. I'm fluent in several: one of these being Gobbledegook, the goblin language. It turned out well for me. I applied for a reasonably lowly position, but apparently being incredibly good at numbers and speaking your boss' language gets you an instant promotion. I became a liason for Gringotts International, although I started out under Marcus Flint (who still works in England for them), as part of a team working with other magical creatures and even Muggles.

I was promoted quickly. My ability with languages once again helped me in my chosen career – I spent a year flitting between England and Japan, and another two practically touring Europe; I went from liasing within Britain to liasing between the UK and Japan, and then between all the major parts of the Continent. Of course I didn't suceed purely because of language lessons – I do have an incredible grasp of economics and accounting – but I can say my success today is entirely thanks to my parents, in drowning me with tutors for much of my life.

And now I'm the Head of the United States Economic Liason Department. Since I'm not actually American that's a fair feat, especially when you factor in my age! Straight from Hogwarts into a job at 18, and working for the US government as a Head of Department at 26! Then factoring in all my various other ventures, the two years I took out to complete a Finance Degree at Cloudbank University... alright I'm boasting a bit, but I'm proud of what I've achieved. I can't imagine a better way of proving that being a Malfoy is an honour, not a curse.” Draco reached out and stroked Harry's wrist very lightly, and they both watched him do so silently for a moment.

“What about you? After the war, I mean?” Green eyes met grey in surprise, and Draco smiled softly. “I'm willing to bet you've gone over the war enough – I don't think we need to talk about that yet. But I am curious to know what happened to you afterwards.” Harry blinked slowly, trying to decide where to begin (and stalling somewhat). Taking a deep breath, he started telling a story that no-one else had ever heard – what really happened to Harry Potter.

“After the war, I fell apart. It was like everything I'd ever lived for had ended, and I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do next. To be completely honest, I can't believe I survived it, even now. But everyone else seemed to be getting along nicely, almost as though nothing had happened. Sure, there were restorations of buildings, trials, funerals; but that died away faster than I expected, and I was left with nothing. Ron and Hermione were together, they certainly didn't need me. I wouldn't be surprised if they're married now.” Draco shifted slightly at this, and Harry gave him a probing look.  
“Alright, they're married, but not to each other. Continue.” Brunette hair flopped into his eyes as Harry shook his head at his partner's brusqueness, but did as he was told.  
“Anyway, I needed to get out, find out who I was without Hogwarts and Voldemort etc. I took a map, threw a dart at it without looking, and headed for Las Vegas.

As soon as I stepped off the plan, it was as if a whole new life had been waiting here for me. Hardly anyone recognised me (which was an incredible relief). In fact I was so invisble in the crowds that I actually got near run-over by a girl meeting her twin sister.

Naturally she stopped to apologise, and we started talking. She was a stripper, as was her sister – they had their own 'twin act' going on, but had just been on holiday visiting relatives. Lola had stayed a bit longer, so Lori had come to get her. They had a spare room; and somehow (don't ask me exactly I'm still not sure) I got myself a room with them for very little rent. They worked at Spearmint Rhino, I'm not sure if you?...” Draco just shook his head slightly – clearly he hadn't seen much of Vegas that wasn't taken over by wizards.

“Well, they had a place in wizarding Vegas that had an entrance near there, out onto Industrial Road at a bus stop near the Fashion Show Mall.”  
“You mean Wenlock Park, named after Bridget Wenlock -”  
“Probably, yes. I mean, it was Wenlock park, but I wouldn't know why.”  
“Right. Anyway, as you were saying?” Harry sighed good-naturedly and decided he may as well hurry up and get to the interesting stuff.

“Well, we became quite good friends, living together quite comfortably. Eventually I even started dating Lola. But after about a month of this, it all went rather nasty.  
Lori had decided to take us both out to a queer club with a few of her friends. At this point I didn't even realise I liked guys, so you can understand how I might not have been totally comfortable with it – I ended up drinking a fair bit, and when Lori asked to dress me in drag I was in no fit state to protest. She had full reign, borrowing some heels off a transvestite friend and shoving me into one of her old dresses. She even stuffed a bra for me, charmed the hair off me and stuck me in a wig. It was perfectly fine until we got back to the club and saw Lola.

Lola was quite clearly chatting up another bloke, even though she was supposed to be with me – and it got far worse when he spotted me behind her and mentioned that I was a 'hot chick'.”

Draco was clearly struggling to hold back laughter, and Harry narrowed his eyes at him.  
“It wasn't that funny at the time, you know,” he haughtily remarked. Draco just blinked back tears and grinned at him.  
“Sorry Scarhead, but I can't help finding the image quite entertaining.” They argued some more, eventually breaking out into a mild tickling battle before Harry finally conceded that Draco had a point.  
“Of course I do. Now, what happened after that?”

“Lola was really pissed – as in, furious. She recognised me pretty quickly since I was with Lori and drunk off my arse, so she didn't appreciate the guy she was chatting up calling her boyfriend 'hot', regardless of why. She absolutely ripped into me, saying it was my fault for letting Lori talk me into it and completely ignoring her own behaviour to that point. I just stood there. Heck, most of the night was relayed to me by Lori later the next day. I ended up staying the night in a hotel, and when I went back to the house all my things were in the front yard.  
Lori was there with them. She explained that I had to leave, that she was sorry, etc. Personally I was still in shock, hadn't really registered what was happening. I wasn't allowed to speak to the twins again. Everything to that point was gone – and it had been just over a year since I'd moved in with them. Our friendship, my relationship, were over.

For some reason, this made me really mad. I couldn't help thinking that it had all been fate, that it meant something, but I couldn't work out what. I stayed in several run-down flats and spent the next three months trying to work out what I was supposed to be doing.  
Ironic that it took me so long to come up with this, really. I just got so frustrated one evening that I decided to hit the town in the same outfit Lori had made me wear, to see what would happen.

It was the strangest night. Everything seemed to go right for me – the bouncers always let me in, girls and guys tried to chat me up, I even got free drinks from the bar staff. It prompted me to do it again, and again, and, well...  
Before long I was spending more time in women's clothing than not. It just felt so good, comfortable and somehow better than anything else I'd ever worn. I felt, well, sexy. Eventually I decided to go a step further – I talked to as many surgeons as I could, and came up with this: breasts created from minutely altering my DNA. They're as real as possible to get without being born female, but they cost me a small fortune.  
I don't regret it. I've basically just been living in bars and tiny flats ever since, largely finding work as a bartender in clubs like LVB. Actually, that's my favourite club – maybe it was fate telling me what to do again, making sure I met you.” Draco shifted uneasily at this.

“Harry, I'm not sure I really believe in fate...” Harry just smiled at him.  
“After the life I've had, Draco, I'd find it hard not to.”


	11. Chapter Eleven - Present

  
Author's notes: An unfortunate time for George...  


* * *

Disclaimer: see Chapter One

Chapter Eleven – Present

In many ways, dinner was both uncomfortable and brilliant. Harry found himself wedged between Draco and Ginny, across from Ron. This meant that he could focus on those three and not worry too much about what everyone else was thinking. Unfortunately, he could still feel the stares fixed on him from the other Weasley siblings – in fact, George was positively glaring. Harry couldn't help wondering what was going through George's mind to make him so hostile towards Harry. Everyone else just seemed uncomfortably curious, not mad. Maybe there was something that he was missing?...

Getting Ron alone after everyone had disbursed for drinks wasn't hard, and the two of them settled down a short way from the house in companionable silence.  
Eventually Harry turned to him, deciding he had to know.  
“Ron, why does George hate me? I expected anger from all of you, but his is actually a stand-out reaction...” Ron flushed a little, clearly uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he muttered;  
“Draco didn't tell you?” Harry could only look puzzled, and Ron sighed as he gave in.  
“Harry, Draco and George were... involved... after you left. Draco basically helped him heal after losing Fred, you know? And, well, I think George still has feelings...” he trailed off awkwardly, noticing the tension growing in Harry's shoulders and jaw.  
“Funny, you'd think he'd mention something like that to me before now, wouldn't you?” he snapped, fairly leaping to his feet in agitation and storming back towards the house.  
“Um, Harry?”

The door made a satisfying 'whump-BANG' as it flew open and smacked against the wall, and Harry allowed himself a moment to appreciate the effect it made. Scanning the room, and noting the absence of not only Draco, but George, he snarled at the rest -   
“Where is he?!” Ginny looked horrified, but at least had the sense to nod towards the stairs, indicating the direction the two must have taken. Harry stormed up them, his fury causing the steps to smoke slightly as he trod on them, and the walls bend away from his slight form.  
Finally he heard voices coming from the twins old room, and instead of waiting to be slammed open the door simply crashed to the floor before Harry's whirling magic.  
“Care to explain what the FUCK is going on here?!”

~~~69~~~

He'd noticed George's looks all throughout dinner, and couldn't deny that he was wary of what was coming. There was no way George would just let this go, and it really annoyed Draco. Honestly, was it his problem if he'd moved on and bloody Weasley couldn't? He'd need to talk to Harry, something he had, if he was being honestly, actively tried to avoid. They rarely spoke of past lovers, and Draco knew Harry wouldn't like that he and George, had, well... they'd certainly been having sex on every surface, but that was about as far as it went. It had been a sort of physical therapy for them both after the war, certainly not a true relationship. Well, at least as far as Draco was concerned.

When Harry left with Ron Draco couldn't stop the sinking feeling in himself as George made his way towards him. Shaking his head slightly (not wanting to have their inevitable fight in front of the entire family), Draco headed up the stairs, knowing George would follow. Eventually he made it up to the twins' old room, and as he settled himself against the windowsill George closed the door and strode towards him.  
“Harry Potter, huh? Why?” George scowled, as Draco barely even blinked. For all their fucking, they'd never really seen eye-to-eye.  
“I love him, George. You know very well that he's an incredible person, and that I don't love easily.” George had to concede the point, but Draco could sense the reluctance coming off the red-head in near palpable waves.  
“Are you sure? We were good together, Draco,” ('Bullshit', Draco added silently), “and I can't help hoping, maybe...”  
“What?” Draco snapped, irritated that Weasley even thought he held a bloody candle to Harry.  
Instead of answering, the bloody idiot stepped closer to Draco, grabbing his shoulders and seriously invading the blond's personal space.  
“Draco... please?” he muttered, before pressing his own lips against the blond's unresponsive ones. Naturally, Harry's impeccable timing decided to rear it's head at this precise moment, the door smashing against the floor and making Weasley jump away from Draco as though scalded.  
Harry looked positively livid.  
“Care to explain what the FUCK is going on here?!”

George opened his mouth to try and make some idiotic excuse, but Draco decided it was in everyone's best interests if he cut him off.  
“Harry, you really do have amazing timing. You've saved me from having to hex bloody Weasley stupid myself. Therefore I hereby leave the ginger prat to your... care.” Of course this hardly appeased the furious brunette, but that hadn't been Draco's intention. He'd just wanted Harry to focus on what he was saying.  
“What do you mean by that?” he bit out, and Draco noticed George's flinch on the edge of his own vision. It rather made him want to smirk, but that would make Harry even angrier – and was therefore a bad idea.  
“Kitten, you can't seriously think I would willingly kiss a Weasley when I have you, do you? Don't be ridiculous.” He kept his face and voice neutral, and Harry visibly faltered.  
“But, Ron said you'd -”  
“Fucked? Love, that was years ago when I couldn't do much better. It was hardly a serious relationship. Right now, the only person I can even imagine being with is you. I love you, Harry.”  
George looked as though Draco had cast Sectumsempra on him and left him to bleed, but Draco himself didn't much care. Harry was looking much happier, if still not really comfortable, and he himself was hopefully rid of any further propositioning by idiotic red-heads. Harry was his priority; and it would only help George to realise he was never getting Draco back.

Pointedly ignoring Weasley, Draco made his way towards Harry (slowly and warily – he wasn't stupid). Slipping his arms around his lover, he smiled when Harry murmured into his shoulder,  
“Can we go home now?”  
He couldn't have said it better himself.


End file.
